Grant opens his mouth to call me out on my subject change, but thinks better of it. With one eyebrow adorably quirked up and the other down, he inspects the quiche with the concentration of a detective on his most gruesome case yet. I cover my smile with my fingers.
“Sure,” he finally says. “Eggs, tomatoes, green peppers, cheese, and . . . onions.”
“The first night I stayed here, you made me an omelet with those very same ingredients,” I murmur softly, tapping the counter space between us.
Grant reaches across the quartz surface, catching my fingers in his big strong hand. “That’s right,” he says, caressing my knuckles with a soft squeeze that I feel in my heart.
He doesn’t realize how hard he’s making this.
“What’s the occasion?” he asks, dipping his head a little to catch my downcast eyes.
“Well . . . I’m moving out,” I say softly.
Grant’s thumb halts its dance across my knuckles. He releases me, his back straightening. “I’m aware. Have you still been looking for a place? We could tour a few places in the neighborhood.”
“I’m actually moving tomorrow morning to a small place in Wedgewood.”
“Tomorrow?” Grant rarely looks surprised, so the shock on his face hits me hard in the gut.
I knew I should have told him sooner.
“Yes, I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I just wanted to tell you in person.”
“I see.”
He leans back, somehow closer to the guarded man who first took me in, and further from the kind, intuitive soul I know him to be.
How can I fix this?
“Hey, look on the bright side,” I say with a fake smile. “You’ll get your bachelor pad back.”
“You mean I’ll be alone again.”
His eyes are searing with emotion, catching me completely off guard. I feel my own eyes pricking with tears, and a lump forming in my throat.
“I need to do this, Grant. I need to take care of myself and stand on my own two feet. Don’t get me wrong; I’m forever indebted to you for carrying me this far. But if I’m planning to bring another life into this world . . . well, I need to know that I can take care of myself first.”
All that talking, and the lump in my throat still hasn’t subsided. Grant listens to my speech with a solemn expression on his face. Finally, he gives me one solitary nod, a small smile cracking through his stoic defenses.
“Will you at least let me help you move?”
I grimace. Every time I open my mouth, I say something that completely crushes him. I hate this.
“Actually, Owen, Jordie, and Justin are coming by before practice.”
Grant leans back, releasing a pained sigh. I didn’t think about how much it might hurt him that I asked his teammates for help rather than ask him. Maybe I can salvage this.
“I was going to ask you’d help us load the boxes into Jordie’s truck,” I say, a sheepish grin forming on my lips.
Grant, meanwhile, seems unconvinced.
I reach across the counter again, touching his hand. “I would really love your help, Grant.”
When he meets my eyes, the emotion I see in them is almost too much to handle. “Of course I’ll help you.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “There’s something else I want to tell you.”
“What is it?” he asks, obviously bracing himself for another bombshell.
I smile. “It’s a girl.”
Grant’s defenses crumble, his eyes widening. “A girl?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t say anything else, but his eyes tell me the whole story. I hold his gaze, a single tear escaping my eye. As badly as I want to look away and hide from the enormous feeling lingering behind his eyes, I don’t. The moment simmers with emotion, and I can’t deny there’s a little voice inside asking if I’m sure.
I swallow and break eye contact.
I have to do this, have to be certain I’m capable of taking care of myself.
• • •
With all but a handful of boxes unpacked, my new apartment is looking more and more put together by the second.
The team did an astounding job of moving my belongings from Grant’s, to the truck, across town, and up two flights of stairs. Sure, we got a few odd looks from Owen and Justin when they walked into Grant’s condo to see all my things piled neatly by the front door. After I explained that their team captain had been kind enough to hold on to most of my things when I was displaced by the breakup, Grant just had to bark a few orders to get their bug eyes focused on the project at hand.
Hobbes sat, quivering anxiously in my lap for the whole ordeal.
Overall, the guys were done in two hours and off to morning practice. I spent the day unpacking and arranging . . . and rearranging. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to make the decisions in my own home.
It’s nice.
My phone buzzes. It’s Becca, letting me know that she’s not going to be able to make it to my housewarming tonight. Understandably, what with a newborn baby.
The plans came together rather suddenly when a few of the hockey wives wanted to show their support in their own way. Several long hours of unloading my life and one group chat later, I’m expecting Elise, Sara, and Bailey at seven o’clock.
Normally, I’d be overwhelmed by the attention. But I’m honestly excited for a little female companionship. Georgia has been busy with work, and she’s the first to admit that she’s a little freaked out by the whole baby thing, so I’m giving her space.
Tonight will be refreshing, if nothing else. Besides, Elise has made serious promises of pizza delivery, and I’m starving.
The kitchen is mostly unpacked and organized, being my favorite room in any living situation. I’m too daunted by my lack of baby necessities to touch the nursery yet. The living room (or maybe it’s a den?) is suitable enough for company. I just hope no one wants a tour, because my bedroom isn’t ready for guests.
After breaking down a couple more empty cardboard boxes, I carry them to the alley, a leashed Hobbes leading the way. After a long walk around the block—long enough to let him sniff every exciting new twig, leaf, and fire hydrant—we head back home. I fumble awkwardly with my new keys. You’ll get used to them.
When I get the door open, Hobbes tears inside, a completely new dog compared to the timid little thing he was this morning. He rounds the whole apartment, coming to a halt at my feet with a wagging tongue to match his tail.
I scoop him into my arms, eliciting a happy yip. Together, we plop down onto the couch for an impromptu cuddle session. I don’t realize how exhausted I am until I sink into the plush cushions of the couch. I’m a goner before I know it.
• • •
I wake up to the sound of an apartment buzzer. I jolt upright, unfamiliar with the tone. Hobbes runs to the window, barking. With a little effort, I push myself up from the couch, hobbling to the intercom.
“Hello?”
The voices that come through are scrambled and very, very enthusiastic.
“Ana—babe— Can—let—in? Downstairs—”
“Come in, come in!” I laugh as I punch the door button, and soon I hear the sounds of three pairs of feet charging up the stairs.